


Last Resort

by Lynx22281



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe in Miracles? Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx22281/pseuds/Lynx22281
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel makes one final attempt to fix Dean.  Will it work?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Resort

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jumping on the post-finale fic-writing bandwagon. :)

The last few months had been an absolute shitstorm.  With Metatron locked away and the spell reversed, Heaven was open for business again.  The angels and reapers were busily processing all of the souls that couldn’t get past the veil and on to their eternal reward.  Dean, alive but not quite, had been dragged off to do Crowley's bidding as the King of Hell’s most fearsome Knight.  It had taken weeks to track down the pair, but when Castiel and Sam found them, they banished Crowley back to Hell permanently and hauled Dean back to the bunker’s dungeon to figure out how to erase the Mark’s hold on him.

 

The first time Castiel set eyes on Dean after the Mark finally claimed him, the angel almost couldn't stand to look at the awful beauty of Dean's power and strength.  He was magnificent and terrifying like a tornado, and Castiel could do nothing but stare from a distance as he tore his way across the plains.

 

Despite the swirling mass of blackness that surrounded him, Castiel could still see the pinprick of golden light at the very crux of Dean's soul, the tiny little part of Dean that was shielded from the darkness by the memory of Castiel's Grace when it rebuilt the Righteous Man after his first stint in Hell.  That was enough to give Castiel hope that Dean wasn’t completely lost.

 

But now, that hope was starting wane.

 

Sam sat hunched over a folder of papers on the library table, forehead cradled in his hands.  His hair fell in limp stringy strands around his face.  Castiel was almost certain he’d fallen asleep when he suddenly shoved the folder away and blew out a frustrated breath.

 

They had given themselves a timetable – if they hadn’t found and cured Dean within six months, then Castiel would use the last of his Grace to exorcise the demon and take whatever might be left of Dean’s soul to Heaven.  Dean never wanted to become the thing that the Mark had turned him into.  He had not only been willing to die, but he had been ready to go, ready to end the vicious cycle of betrayal and heartache that came with being a Winchester.

 

Sam looked across the table to Castiel with watery hazel eyes before glancing over to the tall case clock in the corner of the library. 

 

There were only a few minutes left until midnight.  Their six months were up.

 

Castiel closed his book and stood from his chair.

 

“Let me know when it’s over,” Sam said, his voice small and broken.

 

The angel nodded.  There was one last trick up his sleeve that he had to try, but he didn’t want to get Sam’s hopes up.

 

As he walked down the long winding corridor that led to the dungeon where Dean was bound, Castiel wasn’t sure what was louder, the tap of his shoes on the tiled floor or the wild beating of his heart.  He was fooling himself if he thought this would actually work, but he was more human than angel now, so he could forgive himself a little foolishness.

 

He opened the door to the storage room that hid the dungeon.  Dean was singing along as _Ramble On_ drifted out of the speakers of the ancient turntable set up in the corner of the room, just outside the Devil’s Trap painted on the floor.  Unbeknownst to Sam, Dean actually had a very good singing voice, but he’d always preferred to annoy Sam by singing badly off-key.  Castiel had known this for years, ever since that summer when Dean lived with the Braedens.  He’d often stood invisible at Dean’s side while the hunter worked alone his garage, listening to him sing along to the radio.  Without a little brother to aggravate, Dean would match voices with all the greats – Robert Plant, John Fogarty, Johnny Cash, John Lennon, even Freddie Mercury and Roger Daltry.

 

Castiel pulled back one of the metal shelving units, revealing the dank, dim room where Dean was stretched out on his back on a cot tossing a baseball up in the air.

 

“Hey, angelface,” the demon crooned softly as he caught the baseball one last time before pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed.  He wore a wicked facsimile of Dean’s smile.  “You here to pump me full of human blood again?  Didn’t work the first eight times you tried it.  ‘Fraid you won’t get lucky on the ninth time either.”

 

They’d learned early on not to engage in the demon’s taunting.  The thing that looked like Dean wasn’t really their brother and friend, though they hoped he was locked inside that ugly black mess somewhere. 

 

“Well, look at that,” Dean said with a raised eyebrow as Castiel crossed over the perimeter of the sigil painted on the floor.  He stood up from the bed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and ducking his chin down to his chest in an attempt to look innocent.  “Aren’t you the brave one?  Coming in here all by yourself without the moose to protect you.  Whatcha gonna do to me, little angel boy?”

 

Castiel came to a stop only inches from the demon.  “I’m going to erase you,” he stated plainly, staring up into the solid black eyes looking at him. 

 

Dean chuckled menacingly.  “Uh huh.  Sure.  You kill me, then you lose him.”

 

“He may leave this plane of existence, but I’ll never lose him.”  Castiel moved closer, palms lifting towards Dean’s face.

 

The demon jerked his head back, peering cautiously at the angel, but Castiel just cupped his stubbled jaw and tilted his head downward just slightly.  Their faces were the barest breath away from touching. 

 

“I love you,” he confessed on a whisper before pressing his lips firmly against Dean’s.  Castiel loosened his tenuous hold on the tiny fragment of stolen grace at his core, ready to sacrifice it to destroy the demon if this didn’t work.  He closed his eyes allowing himself the briefest moment to enjoy his first and last kiss with Dean.

 

Dean’s breath hitched against Castiel’s lips, and when the angel opened his eyes just a sliver, wide green eyes, not black, were staring down at him.

 

“Cas…?” Dean murmured quietly, not quite breaking the kiss.

 

“I love you,” Castiel repeated, sliding his hands down Dean’s neck and chest so he could wrap his arms around the Dean’s waist.  He leaned harder into the kiss as the faraway clock in the library began tolling the hour of midnight.

 

Heavy arms came up around his shoulders, hands gripping fistfuls of his shirt against his back.  One hand trailed upwards, pausing at the back of his neck to tenderly cradle his the base of his skull.  Castiel’s hands squeezed Dean’s hips, pulling them flush against each other, sharing the same space, the same breath.

 

Dean suddenly hissed and pulled away from Castiel, ripping at the sleeve of his flannel shirt.  The Mark on his forearm burned white hot before melting away from his skin, drawing with it all of the angry blackness obscuring Dean’s soul.  His eyes flashed black one last time before flickering back to green.  He blinked down at his arm for several long seconds before looking back to Castiel. 

 

Very slowly one corner of his mouth lifted up in a crooked smile.  “Did you just Disney-princess me?”

 

“Yes,” he replied unashamedly.  It was hard to feel any remorse when it actually worked.

 

Dean grabbed hold of Castiel, pulling him close again.  Their lips crashed together, tongues tangling in a way that would never get a PG rating from the MPAA.

 

Sam skidded to a halt in the doorway with the book Castiel had been reading earlier clutched in his hand – an antique collection of fairy tales.  There were little scraps of paper sticking up along the top of the book, marking the first pages of _Snow White_ , _Sleeping Beauty_ , _The Frog Prince_ , _The Little Mermaid_ , and _Beauty and the Beast_.  The hopeful determination on his face quickly faded away to shock and happy disbelief when he spied his brother and the angel locked in a hot and heavy embrace in the middle of the Devil’s Trap.

 

“Huh,” he huffed out with an incredulous little smile.   “True love’s first kiss is a real thing.”

 

Dean and Castiel parted lips, but kept their arms around each other, smiling like lovesick fools in the low light of the dungeon room. 

 

When it became clear that they weren't going to move apart, Sam cleared his throat.  “Uh, glad you’re back, Dean.  Guess I’ll go um…grab dinner.  Burgers good?”

 

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean said leaning in close again.

 

Sam hightailed it down the hall before things went any further.

 

“I love you, too, you know.”

 

“I know, Dean.  The spell wouldn’t have worked if the feeling wasn’t mutual.”  Castiel smiled up at him, a big gummy, ridiculously happy smile that had never crossed the angel’s face before.

 

“C’mon.”  Dean pecked at Castiel’s lips before lacing their fingers together and dragging him out of the dungeon.  “I know of a much nicer place to explore this whole love thing.”

 

When Sam got back with take-out an hour later, he immediately started a new rule list and slapped it up on the refrigerator. 

 

The first rule?  _Clothes are to be worn in the common areas at all times_.


End file.
